


Crimson

by junkienicky



Category: Orange is the New Black, oitnb
Genre: F/F, Heavy Angst, Loss, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 09:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15554526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: "The world is reduced to nothingness. The dizzy spell, hyperventilation and blunt pain chase each other around like the Grand Prix – but it doesn’t matter. Because it all achieves nothing. And all she can do is just sit there."





	Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** I've been on a long hiatus, and this is the longest thing I've wrote in a while. It's not my fondest work, and I even debated posting it because I wasn't sure of the direction or change up of format in contrast to my usual prompts. But I did push myself to finish it, as it's something I really wanted to explore and season six gave me the perfect opportunity to do so. Alas, I hope you enjoy this. Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Sorry about any mistakes. I haven't had time to proof-read this carefully. Hopefully I can improve on my writing in future.

“Don’t go.” She can feel the yearn in her voice escape in less than a whisper. She thought she was loud – maybe in her own head, but what’s the difference? And Nicky only stares solemnly. Her stupid Goldie Locks curls and hollow eyes -- always alert for danger. She reminds Lorna of a cheetah in some ways. Impulsive. Acts on hunger, certainty, speed and defence. Or maybe not, she reconsiders. More like a lion. Patient and cunning. A roar in triumph when need be. But a male lion. No…A female with a mane with that feminine spark of fury. But what does she know about wildlife? A bitter laugh. This pack of bitches she’d unknowingly wedged herself into out of something that tastes like a desperation from fear or instant need for protection – that…That was her first-hand, front-row seat of wildlife.

She has that fucking look that Lorna knows all too well. She’d only bared witness to it three times, though each one fuelled the venom of tears in her eyes like a bullet ant sting. Her eyes fall to the fingers that tentatively clutch the doorknob, then back to that stupid fucking wholesome grin and gentle, wet eyes that’s a muster a combo of _it’ll be okay_ or…Fuck even knows? All Lorna feels is the intense surge of pain ripple through the ways of her abdomen to her pelvic muscles, that threaten to rip her apart. At any moment perhaps.

Truth be told, there was an uncertainty of whether she was begging not to be left alone because she could anticipate the beginning of something very apparent, or because of the most definite threat lurking around outside. That cunt. And that fucking broom.

The gleam in Nicky’s soft orbs forward her to beg again. Fuck, she’d even get on her knees if it didn’t feel like a blunt knife was ripping her apart inside-out. “Don’t go.”

_Why doesn't she ever listen?_

The door creaks open.

“Oh, fuck(!)” Is all Lorna manages. Nicky steps out and calls Annalisa and all the brunettes’ left with is the pounding of her heart that syncs with the beating pulse inside her head, as she recollects how but fifteen seconds ago, her and Carmine were _maybe_ going to reach their chill.

Most of the sneer and short to-the-point chatter grazes past Lorna’s ears.

_It’s all fucked, we’re all fucked, maybe it’s my fault but maybe I don’t know because fucking hell this hurts._

She grips her belly – stumbling forward as the tears well in her lost eyes while Nicky is forced against the dryer with a pale, clenched fist in the wrath of the blonde’s hair.

_Don’t, don’t, don’t Just. Fucking. Don’t._

The delicate tears that spill from her cheeks between the open space of the door and its frame plead for silent mercy. That’s all she can manage when another ripple of what feels like Lucifer burning her soul, slices her length, feet up, causing her to almost topple over.

And then there’s just silence. Nicky’s gone, and the horizon just tilts ninety degrees as Lorna leans on a sink for support – oh, of all things. “No, no, no, baby, not now!”

She felt something drip. A gush of something in fact. Her waters? No. It’s wrong. Nothing feels right. Everything. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

In twenty-five seconds, minutes or fucking hours, one of the COs hears and jolts – not that Lorna could remember which one. Or which kind. The good one, the bad one, the abusive one. The heroic one. All she knows is that she’s barely prodded to her feet and without registering, another intensive scream rips through her lings and out her breath. Her numb fingers and nails grip and nip at the collar of his shirt as they toddle through what felt like the map of a fucking Resident Evil game. Everything that passes her eyes doesn’t phase. Her legs are lumps of jelly, and what she thought was the water from the membrane sac, yanks her back into irrational panic as she stars down, struggling on the bed as the medic attempts to keep her still from flaring.

Dotted, to thick blotches of blood ink their way though the crotch area of her khakis.

Then there’s just darkness.

* * *

An hour past.

Or two.

Maybe a whole day.

Her head floods with various memories of segments of dialogue.

_“Shit, fuck, we don’t have the facilities. What am I supposed to do, fucking improvise…Shit.”_

_“I don’t fucking know…She’ll have to pull through it.”_

She remembers screeching for Vinnie’s whereabouts. Stupid. Or maybe it was Nicky that surely _accidentally_ slipped out of her mouth? That patch of her brain is too fuzzed by the looming static of events she’d been tossed into this past few…Days? Who even knows.

Apparently, she’s wrong, as her hearing fades back to her senses and her eardrums start to ring again. Her lids slowly open, but it doesn’t prevent the irrational spinning in her mind.

It takes a minute for the travel-sickness like feeling and nausea to clear Lorna’s brain, then she’s left frantic, attempting to sit up in hurry, and finds herself restrained by the cuffs that prison her wrists and ankles to the bed she’s accommodating.

She recognises a medic hurry over, mumbling something unrecognisable under her chubby chin, before she vacantly attempts to keep the awoken patient at her cool. The brunette looks past her, until they fall to… _No. It can’t be. That’s not…Right._

Her head hefts up further from the pillow. Ignoring her restrains, she urges in desperation for a clearer view.

A deafeningly silent, tiny, limp, blue body is fussed over by two nurses. Lorna’s heart sinks until it reaches the pit of her stomach, and a fist as large as Piscatella’s crushes it into a pool of blood. There’s no oxygen to breathe because all the air is drained out until she’s left into a vacuum of her own pants and tears of pain. Her cries fill the room yet again, until –

 _No…Did he just?_ In all the array of rush and haste there’s a murmur. A movement.

A series of yells allows her to be uncuffed and then she’s holding him. His little body. Tiny fingers. Acute feet. Eyelids still pierced closed. Perfectly still and snug in his mother’s arms like a perfect fit. How it always should be.

Her tears turn into joy and cries transform into small chuckles. It’s all perfect.

Until it isn’t. And he’s taken away again. She’s cuffed up and screaming and threatening to tear apart the world because it’s all she knows she should do. All for her little boy.

In all of the rush and blur, Lorna forgets the exhaust that sits in her core and there’s only so long she can scream at white nothingness until another wave of fatigue kicks in. Her back flops against the bed and all she can do is stare. Maybe whimper softly, and glance at the clock now and then. Check into conversations taking place between inmate patients and medics.

Sometimes she vaguely asks herself, in a low, soulless mumble.

They just tell her to wait, or rest, or shut up.

And then another hour passes.

It’s either the spleen after pain of birth that vibrates from her newly empty womb, to the dull cloudiness behind her eyes; or her own insomnia playing a fucking circus in her mind that triggers her to fade out of this newfound information. Because certain words split through her chest like shards of fresh glass. The rest don’t matter.

_“…….I’m Sorry…….”_

_“…….Noticed, rather premature……..”_

_“…….Recheck your medication, but…….”_

_“…….Holes in the septum of the heart……..”_

_“……..Transferred to somewhere with better facilities…….”_

_“……..In the meantime, you should…….”_

The world is reduced to nothingness. The dizzy spell, hyperventilation and blunt pain chase each other around like the Grand Prix – but it doesn’t matter. Because it all achieves nothing. And all she can do is just sit there.

_Recovering. Pfft._

_What’s worth recovering for? Nothing. Not anymore._

* * *

It must be two weeks later when she’s wheeled back into D-Block. So many empty eyes around tables fixated in awe or relatability.

_What the fuck do they know?_

She recognises a certain strong voice; frantic and quick to her feet and pushing through charades of women to meet here eyeline on her knees. So full of cautious questions and generosity and all Lorna can do is shrug. Because what does it matter?

A delicate hand slips on her shoulder from behind, and Nicky’s voice is soft in her ear, “you don’t have to talk.”

If only she knew.

When they’re back in her cell, Lorna’s lifted from her chair onto her bottom bunk and Adeola’s scarce with a few words, Nicky’s the first to fumble about some kind of apology. Her hands her tense and words shake with a bottom lip tremble. It’s weirdly, probably, the most shaken she’s witnessed the ex-junkie. Especially since she’s the one now who’s hush and basically unresponsive. Makes an unfamiliar change.

Nicky comments this, that and other. How thin she looks, and how pale her skin is, and how worried, and how blah blah blah, until Lorna finally cracks open like the shell of a jawbreaker.

And then the blonde somewhat understands. Because, no, she could never fully no matter how much it seems like she expresses she could. But Vinnie, oh, her poor Vinnie…How would he react?

The kisses on her temple are like blank spaces, and hand that squeezes into her palm is feels barely noticeable. Nichols doesn’t attempt a series of _maybes_.

_Maybe this, maybe that, maybe it’s all cookies or was meant to be or what._

The mother appreciates that, at least. For once it’s fucking refreshing to not force-feed herself into a web of make-believe. Nonetheless by other people _._

Days droop by, and Lorna starts to find her feet again. In the literal sense, not in the state of mind, which yes, she thinks would be nice. But that’s not going to happen again. Not ever.

Nicky’s like a bystander. A safe, close distance, and only pushing a word in when the brunette asks. Sometimes she tries harder – it’s unsuccessful.

“You’ve got to eat, baby.” Curling a strand of hair behind her ear.

_Why?_

“Some water?”

_Does it quench the pain that boxes in my windpipe?_

“Maybe get some sleep, yeah?”

_No sleep. No point._

Eventually her voice begins to pick more, in small segments. Words barely noticeable to everyone else around her…But to Nicky, oh, to Nicky, she’d experience the blonde’s posture literally perk like a protective lap-dog whenever the slightest meek leaves her lips.

That, she identified more closely, unintentionally gave the corners of her mouth permission to lift. But only a little. Until she remembers. And they drop again. 

* * *

She didn’t mean to push Nicky away. It wasn’t her intent or goal. Or perhaps it was. But she doesn’t feel too bad. No more than how she does already -- unless the added amount of guilt is washed under by the sack of pain brimmed to her neck already…

The blonde had approached her in the yard. Cautious skip in her step, weary smile and something tucked under the sleeve of her grey jumper. Its intro was short-termed and to-the-point. It was a keyring, with a melted plastic base and a name carved into it.

‘ _Carmine’_

“That’s his name, right?”

Lorna panicked, spewed out a quick thank you, and threatened internally at herself to cling onto the tears that sit in the corners of her ducts before she hastily vomited a string of lies.

_Vinnie did this, and Vinnie helped with that and he’s, oh, such a precious husband and he’s so heartbroken. He visited me yesterday, and the day before and he’s going to tomorrow, like the most gracious guy he is._

The worst part was Nicky’s understanding. It’s like the words barely grazed her skin, and Lorna couldn’t face it. The purest form of gentleness in her eyes and palm that smooths circles on her back, like back when her belly was poking out. And she remembers that Nicky did all that.

“That’s good, kid.” Her voice was calm and wholesome. Even the entire complexity of her face was the most convincing and most genuine, un-threatening thing the brunette swore she’d ever saw. It was almost like a lighthouse has lit up her chest and maybe…Just _maybe,_ she was beginning the feel the gravity underneath her feet again.

Because that’s how love is supposed to work, isn’t it? All those stupid, and un-self-aware, dopey love songs that doss over how they’ve lost sight of everything that used to make sense, and yet in reality, it’s everything that makes sense is how it all works. Every sight you can identify that you don’t gloss over and paint and add some glitter to make a piece of rat shit…A slightly better looking piece of rat shit.

But, still…Lorna couldn’t face it. Wouldn’t accept what, potentially for once, both heart and head were implying.

“Can you just leave me alone.” She’d snatched the keyring, pocketed it, and was on her way out of the perimeter of where she wouldn’t have to suffer the eye contact of pain that she’d caused. The pain she always causes – evidently not just to herself. Doesn’t matter anyway.

And it’s not like she lied…Not really. Vinnie did visit. Only once. The words shared were short, like an excruciatingly painful wait for each turn forward in a game of chess. Uncertainty laced his tone and Lorna was sure it was some kind of unspoken break-up. Because maybe she finally realises it was all fun and games and adrenaline while it lasted. Now it’s all too real. Or maybe she always knew that and just never confronted it.

_What does it matter now?_

* * *

An update finally comes from medical.

“Stable and improving, hey, kid, that’s good news, huh?” Her lips perk a little. She attempts to hide it by clenching her arms around Nicky’s torso and sniffs every scent of her being. Everything she’s ever put up with or stood up for. And the blonde holds her too, of course.

The awkward nature of informing Vinnie is even comforting, to an extent. His eyes water, they share a chuckle and then…Not much, really. Not as much as either of them would like, because the pair seem distracted. They don’t pour or lust into each other’s eyes like they once did or speak as if they shared some mighty secret that those two, and only ever them could understand. They fiddle, avoid too much eye contact, swallow the lump in their throats and hold the phone like it’s an annoyance poking in their ear.

Then Vinnie’s gone, and she’s left with that small fragment of hope that doesn’t really mean much when there’s no one physically, or even mentally there to share that with. There’s Nicky…But that isn’t _quite_ the same. Or perhaps it is. She walks back to D-Block.

The blonde stands there, leaning against her cell frame with her arms crossed and that stupid wide face that relaxes like Lorna just entered a dim room and lit the entire place up like a box of Christmas lights.

_How can she mess with her mind this much and for so long?_

Red says something, or other, but Lorna ignores Red most of the time. Not because her annoyingly accurate, but painful wisdom in that strong voice is enough to power a fucking tsunami. Because she doesn’t _get it._

Sure, she’s a mother. But it’s not the same for her. And now Lorna gets it. How could she possibly waste her energy on formulating schemes and tactics into fuelling her anger, when those poor, little angel grandbabies wait on the outside for her…Who does that? The question hammers in her brain, and for once, she gets how Nicky constantly dips her a side-eye, or a mumble, for Red to slope away with soft brows and self-guilt.

Lorna apologises to Nicky. Nicky doesn’t accept it because she doesn’t comprehend what the fuck she could possibly apologising about in the first place. Lorna supposes she doesn’t exactly know either; it just feels right to say it. She takes to her feet and shrugs. Lets her thumb trace along the brunette’s cheekbone to wipe away a single tear, and carefully places a kiss to its missing place. Lorna feels herself melting into the kind of touch she urges for.

“I’ll see you in the morning, kid. Sleep tight.”

* * *

The next time Lorna sees his little body is in the photograph she holds tensely between thumb and fingers. She puts it on her wall, debates and re-debates its position. She takes it off, carefully folds it ensuring not to crease any part of him in that small incubator with tubes and stickers connected all over him, and places him in her pocket so he can be wherever she is. Then at night, it’s on her wall again. She gives the gloss a careful kiss, extra care not to leave any sort of smudge, but them – at least she’s leaving her mark there.

At phone time, Lorna gives up. She’d been patient enough – she’d counted.

_“……..To accept this call, please press one……..”_

_“……..To accept this call, please press one……..”_

_“……..To accept this call, please press one……..”_

_“……..To accept this call, please press one……..”_

_“……..To accept this call, please press one……..”_

In a huff, the phone’s slammed back in its holster and she receives a shot for violating property. Nicky, of course, attempts to reassure her. “Maybe he just got caught up, babe, I don’t know, but you can try again tomorrow, right?”

“Too caught up to talk to his wife about his unwell baby!?”

She’d imagined she’d argue a lot more considerate and reasonable, hadn’t she pretended he’d visited and called the last two or three times…

Nicky does her best to solace her until call time and they’re ordered back into their cells.

_Yeah…I’ll try again tomorrow._

* * *

The sun rises and flickers through the perimeter fence around the prison. After lunch, she’s facing Vinnie – that, or a blank expression that dips into a desire to confess something.

Nothing’s working.

What takes Lorna back the most, is how much she understands, and nods, and even sometimes says “yes.”

She floats back to the canteen like a rock through space and Nicky’s face drops from afar.

_Why does she always gotta be there to pick up the pieces?_

The metal band around her finger slides past her knuckle without effort and its landing place unrecorded. Lorna finds herself scrubbing her fingers when she showers -- in the sink, even without realising. Perhaps she’d almost let it slip past her mind that she still felt it there constantly in her mind, until Nicky strolls into her cell, frowns, lifts her foot, and crouches to retrieve the small gold ring.

“You lose this, kid?”

“Oh, yeah, I, uh…Must’ve.” Lorna chuckles nervously in disguise, takes it back and pretends it’s all in jest. Another clumsy episode. The blonde’s unconvinced.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” She bites her lip. Lies again. Always lies.

_It’s all okay, it’s all okay, it’s all okay._

Nicky’s brows kneed when her eyes follow the brunette walking away in quick steps.

* * *

The only glimpse of hope, of course, barely lasts for even what feels like a second.

Everything’s dust and words unspoken by other inmates are screamed out by their nervous expressions.

The thing that is part of her, _became_ part of her, and everything that ever was, was all for nothing.

“I’m sorry.”

Without consent, the words replayed in her head.

_“……..Too many complications……..”_

She screams into her pillow; fists scrunched into balls and teeth clenched until her jaw ached for release.

_“……..He couldn’t pull through……..”_

And later, one hand squeezes onto to the keyring engraved with his name, her little Carmine, while the other shakily sweats with the toothbrush with an embedded blade at the head. She tries to keep her cries nearest to silent when the sharp edge barely grates her skin, until from behind it’s smacked from within her grasp three metres away.

Arms wrap around her, and murky blonde hair tickles her forehead. A familiar scent envelopes her into that grey hoodie without the slightest murmur.

That’s where they sit for a while. A while that feels like an eternity, though not long enough at the same time. Lorna sobs – Nicky does too, as she rocks her gently and presses her lips to her messy head and says nothing. Because she gets it.

Lorna’s the first to sit up and progressively find her voice. She blubs and splutters and hiccups like a child that’s fallen into the dirt.

“It was all fake.” Her voice shakes and chin trembles. Nicky takes the moment to use the sleeves of her jumper and smear away the tears from her own eyes, before sniffling “wha’dya mean…?”

“Everything. Vinnie. Carmine. All of it. I thought it was real for too long, but now it actually is.”

“I don’t understand, Lorna.”

“I was just so lonely!” She falls into Nicky’s lap, letting the tears that slide down her cheeks wet the blonde’s khakis in small dots. She caresses her fingers through the knotted stands of Lorna’s hair – waits for her to continue.

“And now it’s all gone. We were gonna take him to the park for picnics, and paint his bedroom blue, and take it in turns to change his smelly diapers. And – and, record his first words, or take him to soccer practise or whatever it was that he was gonna be into, and –”

The blonde shushes; breathes heavily and shuffles Lorna around so she can gaze down into those sorrow-filled eyes.

“Nothing is every gonna replace what you’ve lost, babe. And nothing is ever going to make you forget. But in half a year, you’re out and, you know, you can try again, yeah?” She’s responded with a pitiful headshake and series of sobs.

“It’s all over, is what I mean.”

“I don’t –”

“Vinnie too.”

“But, w—"

She confesses, “maybe it never started, but I don’t know. I didn’t even know his favourite colour. What kind of candy he likes – not, not really. I was lying to you and, and everyone, and myself – Because…I guess I was just scared. And you. You were away. You had to fucking be away!” Nicky finds herself bawling as Lorna weeps into her words.

“I don’t know why I am the way I am. I try not to be crazy, but when I think I’m not, I actually am, and then I try to fix it because I don’t wanna be that way, Nicky.”

“I know.” The blonde whispers, attempting to use her kisses like they’re unique with an ability to soak up all of Lorna’s eternal sadness. Her own too. The brunette sniffles – takes her palms to cup Nicky’s cheeks and bring their faces mere inches. She hums an apology that, still, Nicky refuses to accept in pride because what _is_ she apologising about?

“I love you.”

“I, um…” The blonde slurs for her words, taking the bold statement as a grain of salt. Maybe sugar. That’s sweeter, but in the instant they both taste the same and her tongue searches for the words she’s supposed be fucking good at spouting – even in uncomfortable situations.

“Love you too.” It sounds insincere, at best, convincing, because although  it’s the  _genuine_ truth, how else could she possibly respond to a woman in her arms, two minutes away from a desire of death, the loss of a child and divorce, maybe not legally, from someone whom she alluded was all that was ever on her mind?

All that Nicky knows is how fucked she is. And torn. And in love.

“I just…In the grand scheme I realise that, right now, I might be everything you want, but…Once you’re out there. There are some things I just won’t be able to give you, babe.” The last query she wants to mumble clings to the tip of her tongue.

“What if that’s not enough?”

Lorna scoops herself up from Nicky’s lap. She doesn’t have all the answers. Maybe that’s not how it’s supposed to be. Sucking in her breath, she loops her fingers between Nicky’s. The only place her hand seems to fit.

The blonde’s lips twist as she peers ahead in silence.

“I’ve been rushing so much, I just wanna take it slow…”

That earns a smile.

“I want that, if you want that, kid.”


End file.
